Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 54899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
I remember how my stalker held a knife to my throat.
And that man at the café said he’d hurt me if we met again.
“You will remove it once this is all over, and I’m safe,” I decree.
His eyes flash with relief. I guess he expected more of a fight.
I huff. “I’m independent, but I’m not an idiot. Those men scared me. I’ll stay with you until we figure this out, and I’ll keep this…thing inside me until the danger has passed. But I want to be clear that I don’t like it. And I’m still pissed that you drugged me so you could inject me with it when I was unconscious. We are going to have some serious talks about boundaries and respect going forward.”
“I’ll never tire of hearing your voice, even if you are berating me.” He grins, and he’s so gorgeous in his maniacal joy that it takes my breath away.
This should scare me, but it’s Brandon.
We’re bound by shared trauma and forbidden love that’s endured years of separation. Even his death didn’t stop me loving him.
It’s too soon for me to say it. There’s still so much more for me to learn about his life over the last five years when he was hiding himself from me.
I’m not ready to forgive him for that, even if I don’t hate him for it.
I could never hate him.
I blink and break from his intense blue gaze, eyeing the meal he prepared for us instead. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“I taught myself.”
I can’t suppress a small smile. “You’ve always been good at educating yourself. I just didn’t know that extended to culinary arts.”
“I wanted to learn for you.”
The swell of emotion in my chest is almost overwhelming.
He learned to cook because he wants to take care of me. He fought in the ring so he could earn the money to buy a house for me. He killed my stalker to save my life.
It’s all for me.
And all I ever gave him was a gunshot to the face.
He brushes the crease in my brow. “What’s wrong?”
“You keep saying you’re not worthy of me, but I’ve done nothing to deserve this devotion.” I force the words through my constricted throat. “I left you for dead.”
And that’s the deepest truth of why I can’t accept his obsessive love for me: I will never be able to atone for what I did to him.
“I survived,” he reassures me. “I’m right here.”
He takes my hand and places it on his chest. His heartbeat is strong and steady beneath my palm.
“I don’t blame you for anything that happened,” he promises. “You are worthy of love, Karolina. More so than anyone I’ve ever known. You’re kind and fierce and brilliant. How could I not love you?”
Wet heat spills down my cheeks, and he kisses my tears away.
“I know it’s a lot to process,” he murmurs. “It’s been a long day. You need to eat. Please.”
I sniffle and wipe my eyes. “You made me this beautiful meal, and it’s getting cold. I don’t want to ruin it.”
“You could never ruin anything.”
The answering pang in my heart threatens to draw a soft sob from my chest, but I quickly draw a deep breath to quell my most tumultuous feelings.
I relax against him, completely worn out from the rollercoaster of emotions. Ever since I woke up from my drugged sleep in his arms this afternoon, I’ve cycled through terror, rage, disbelief, grief, and hope.
All I want now is to be with him.
There will be time for more questions tomorrow. We have years of secrets to share.
He pulls me closer, and I allow him to feed me the delicious dinner he prepared for us. It’s quietly intimate and so sweet that my eyes sting at the corners.
I focus on his steady blue gaze.
I never want to lose sight of Brandon ever again.
13
KAROLINA
The next morning, Brandon makes breakfast for me: avocado toast with halloumi and crispy bacon.
He’s an amazing cook. He dotes on me. Every action, every word, is meant to comfort me.
His affirmations and unabashed declarations of affection are so sweet that they make my heart ache. I want to accept them so badly. I want to reciprocate them.
But years of trust issues have only been compounded by his elaborate deception.
Despite how desperately I want him, a little voice in my head warns me: not safe.
I know deep in my bones that he’ll protect me physically, but putting my heart on the line is another matter entirely.
I’ve spent too long with my guard all the way up to lower it so easily. I don’t know how to exist without my protective walls.
The prospect is terrifying.
My disquiet ratchets up a notch after breakfast, when he says, “I have something for you.”
I eye him warily. “I don’t need any gifts. You’ve already bought two houses for me. It’s too much.”